The Score
by quizasvivamos
Summary: Santana is an unpopular sophomore at McKinley High who is merely going through the motions, trying to make it to school each day, and trying to figure out how to survive the struggles of a broken family life and her less than stellar high school experience. One day, a mysterious girl shows up at McKinley High and alters Santana's entire world and outlook on life.
1. Part One

**Author's Notes:** Hello, reader! Before you read this story, I feel obligated to warn that, while there are definitely moments of fluff, this is not a lighthearted story and explores some very serious themes such as domestic violence, attempted suicide, and drug use.

While the story is set in Lima, OH and at McKinley, this is an **AU** in which Santana is unpopular, and, some of the things that come up in passing in canon (her rough background), are actually serious in this fic. The rest of the characters are represented in the forms I found them most interesting.

This is more or less a coming of age story and a coming out story. There are instances of hurt/comfort, but the story is about the development of a character and how the relationships with the people around her help shape her into the person she becomes.

You will find that the structure of the story is unusual: it is told in short scenes or snapshots - which are numbered - and there are time jumps at parts. To prevent confusion, please keep that in mind. This story is very near and dear to my heart, and I hope, if you choose to read it, that you enjoy it too :)

* * *

1. Silence. All there is is silence, and then the sound of a bird's song comes lilting through the stagnant summer air and into Santana's consciousness.

Santana lay there, heavy limbs, head-spinning, head pounding unable to make sense of what is up and what is down. She can feel herself breathing again. Slowly in, slowly out. Why does her chest hurt so much?

The empty plastic orange bottle lays a few inches away from where her arm is splayed out across the floor. She wearily turns her head to the side. Slowly in, slowly out. The pounding begins to turn into a dull throbbing.

Everything floods back into her skull, what she's doing here on the floor, why she has found herself in this predicament.

What the fuck was she even thinking? Obviously, she wasn't.

Everything seemed to be going well, really. No. Nothing was alright, and everything was hurting. If only she could rewind, go back a few paces, or an eternity…

-s-

2. She stares into the dirty mirror of the girl's bathroom, eyes flickering back and forth from her frizzy hair to the pimple on her chin she can't seem to get rid of. Her stomach grumbles. It is lunch period, but Santana once again arrived at school without one and without the means of buying one.

The refrigerator has been empty at home for the past few weeks. Her mother is never home long enough to notice.

She grimaces at her reflection as she touches up her mascara and brushes back her long dark hair, pulling it into a pony in attempt to make it look somewhat tamed. She runs her hands down the sides of her sweater, pulling it down around her hips. It was one of the nicer ones she owned. She had lifted it herself.

The bell rings.

Shit. Time to head over to English. She shoves her makeup into her bag and shuffles off to seventh period. When she arrives at the classroom, she notices it's relatively empty. Oh yeah. It was a fucking field trip today, some stupid museum or something that she didn't even find it worth forging a signature to attend or trying to scrounge up the cash for.

There were at least two other people in the room and the teacher. Of course, she's here, she thinks. Santana scans the room and is taken aback when she notices a girl in the class whom she has never seen before. She's tall, blond, with a fair complexion. She's almost elfish, the way she's grinning brightly as she stares at the teacher as if nothing could make her happier. What the fuck. Is this girl real?

"Santana, nice of you to join us," Mrs. Holden says, her greeting laced with only a tad bit of sarcasm.

"Couldn't miss this one, Miss H. You know how much I love this class," Santana replies, matching the teacher's bitter tone. She begins to head over to her usual spot in the room but decides to head toward the back of the room, pulls out the chair by the new girl, and plops herself down at the desk, lowering her head onto her folded arms.

"I understand that most of your classmates are out today, and there's not much we can really cover in their absence, but I do have an announcement. I'd like to welcome Brittany into our class today. She just transferred to McKinley, and I'd like it if you all tried your best to make her feel welcome."

Yeah, whatever. Ugh, her head hurt something fierce. Her stomach growled again.

"Here," Brittany says, still beaming, as she pulls a candy bar from out of her pocket and hands it to Santana. "Whenever Lord Tubbington gets hungry, I always give him chocolate. It cures everything!"

"Thanks…?" Santana reluctantly takes the candy bar that the girl seems to produce from out of thin air. Lord Tubbington…? Is she for real? A first impression could not be any stranger.

The teacher begins to speak again, but Santana zones out as she pops a piece of the chocolate into her mouth. Her taste buds come to life, and her body seems to be thanking her for finally heeding its call. She looks over at Brittany who appears to be taking notes despite there not being an actual lecture. Upon closer examination, she is drawing cartoons of cats on the page. Underneath one of the crudely drawn, very rotund cats, Brittany writes "L.T." L...T…Oh. Lord Tubbington…is a cat? Wait a minute.

Santana snickers loudly, and then, feeling foolish, puts her head back down on the desk as the teacher turns around.

"Is something amusing you, Ms. Lopez?" Santana lifts her head and shakes it vigorously, trying to conceal a smirk before resting her head on the desk again and silently chuckling, her body shaking from laughter. Once she manages to pull herself together, she lifts her head up again and leans it on the palm of her right hand, fingers curling up around her cheek.

The light shining in from the window catches her eye as it reflects off something in her peripheral. It's Brittany's golden hair; it's literally golden. At least, Santana is mesmerized by it for a moment as she stares at the side of her head, her gaze shifting from her long, yellow waves down to her hips and then legs crossed underneath the desk. God, she had long legs. Santana refocuses her gaze on Brittany's face. Her fair complexion is lightly decorated with faint freckles, her features round and delicate, her eyes, almost an icy blue…or were they gray? Santana's eyes stray to her lips, pink and soft.

Brittany feels Santana's gaze and turns to face her. She grins. It murders Santana. Literally, she cannot breathe for a moment.

A blush creeps up Santana's neck and into her face as she quickly turns trying to hide it.

"My name's Brittany." I already know that, Santana thinks, but she tries to smile back at her. Oh, right.

"I'm Santana. So, uh, do you like it here, I mean, at McKinley?" she half mumbles, attempting conversation.

"It's nice. No one has really talked to me all day, but the teachers smile back if you smile at them. That's very nice."

Santana looks over at Mrs. Holden, her usual grumpy, stressed out scowl on her face from too many hours spent with cheeky adolescents and not enough coffee. She finds it hard to believe that her teachers actually smile. Ever. In what world is Brittany actually living? Santana isn't convinced it's this one, but the girl also seems a bit simple. It is kind of cute, though, the way she seems to only see the sun when there is obviously a tempest raging on around them.

Their hushed conversation continues as the clock ticks down the final minutes until the end of the class period.

The bell rings.

-s-

3. "What do you have after English?" Brittany asks, as they push in their chairs, shoulder their handbags, and trudge out into the hallway.

"Study hall. But it's lame, so I skip it. Quinn's waiting for me outside the auditorium…you wanna come with?" Brittany looks hesitant, seems to consider, and then smiles.

"Okay. Who is Quinn?"

"An old friend."

They make their way through the hallway and past the double doors leading to the auditorium, careful not to catch the attention of any teachers, and they stop when they reach a door that has been propped open with a stone about the size of a brick. They slip out the doors quietly and then break out into a dash towards the field.

"Hey, bitch!" Quinn calls over from her seat on the bleachers. She takes a drag on her cigarette.

"I hope you have one of those for me," Santana says, taking a seat next to Quinn.

"Of course. What do you take me for?" she says, handing over the box.

"Menthol ultra-lights…?"

"It's all I could find. What? You're going to be picky now?"

"No," she answers, takes a cigarette out, places it between her lips, and tosses the box back to Quinn. Quinn lights it up for Santana. She inhales. Santana's lungs fill up with dry heat, but it's a pleasant sort of feeling. She relaxes. Quinn eyes Brittany suspiciously as if just now noticing her presence.

"Who is she?" she asks, running her free hand through her shoulder-length pink hair.

"This is Brittany. She just transferred, and it turns out we have English together."

"Alright. Fair enough. Do you smoke?" she questions, pointing her cigarette at Brittany.

"Oh, um, no. No, thank you," she says shyly.

"Whatever. More for us."

Brittany watches Santana take drag after drag of her cigarette until she has sucked it down to the filter. Quinn twists her nose ring between her finger tips, a seasoned habit. Her eyes are a light brown, hazel maybe, but they're lifeless. This girl has lost something, has lost her life force, Brittany thinks. She's so sad. Brittany looks back to Santana who is watching an unaware Quinn with a look of longing in her eyes. Santana's eyes still shine, Brittany thinks. She wants to keep it this way. She smiles.

"So what are you up to today? You're not going to that stupid glee club again, are you?"

"Yeah, Quinn, it's sorta a class. Attendance is mandatory…" she says, tossing the cigarette butt to the ground and stamping it out.

They both look at each other and burst out laughing.

"Yeah, who am I trying to kid," she says, gasping to catch her breath, "I don't know, though, Q. I kinda just like being there."

"Lame. Well whatever you plan on doing, I'll be here…or home. You know where to find me. Or you can just shoot me a text."

The bell rings.

"Guess that's your cue, Pavlov," Quinn says, as she lights up another cigarette. "No bell will make me jump and run. The man has no power over this bad bitch right here," she says, pointing a thumb at her chest.

Santana laughs again, rolling her eyes, waves goodbye to Quinn, and she and Brittany trudge back towards the side entrance to sneak back into the building.

"Santana? Why do you smoke?" she asks in a small voice.

"I dunno. I only smoke when I'm around Quinn. It's a social thing, I guess."

"Quinn doesn't seem like a very nice person. She doesn't smile much and she smells like an ashtray."

"Quinn is my only friend. We've been friends since the sixth grade."

"But she doesn't seem that interested in you."

"That's just how she is. Honestly, Brittany," she says, beginning to get frustrated. Why is Brittany so concerned about Quinn anyway, she thinks. "She's the only person who puts up with me. I don't know if you realize it, but I don't have a lot of friends. People just steer clear of me. I'm an untouchable or something, an outcast. Maybe I just don't have anything to offer them," she finishes sadly.

"You have me now."

"I do," she says thoughtfully.

"And I think you have plenty of things to offer."

Santana looks at Brittany curiously. Here is this girl who barely knows her, and she is ridiculously charming, she is literally charming Santana, and Santana is happy but a bit confused. How could someone be concerned about someone she just met? Her quick judgment on Quinn frustrates Santana, and, yet, it's kind of sweet. She thinks she'll keep this girl around.

-s-

4. Santana sits in the back corner of the room as she watches the others chatter excitedly about which songs they're working on, what auditions they're attending, and so on. She doesn't join the conversation. And when Mr. Schuester asks them all to stand for warm-ups, she does, but she sings along quietly for an audience of one. It's okay because no one really seems to notice her there.

Brittany did not tag along. She had gone off to her last period class. She knows she just met Brittany, but something about not having her there in the choir room with her made her feel emptier than usual. She had liked having someone to talk to for a change.

There is a couple who make a point to sing nearly every class period. Rachel and Finn, she thinks their names are. It's not really important. This girl Rachel is loud and possesses an enormous amount of confidence, and Santana wonders where you buy that shit and how much it costs. Her boyfriend just seems to do whatever she says. He's obviously whipped, Santana thinks.

"Alright, guys! As we all know, we need to begin picking songs for Sectionals. I have a few suggestions here," Mr. Schuester says as he passes around some sheet music. Santana receives her copies and looks over the titles: "Start Me Up", "99 Luftballons", "Total Eclipse of the Heart"..? What the hell was this crap? She slumps down in her seat and just stares at the music.

"Mr. Schuester! Can't we do something a little more current? Finn and I have prepared a song that is sure to win us the competition," Rachel announces, beaming, as she takes to the floor, pulling Finn up too. She hands the guy at the piano a copy of the music. "We're performing 'Mamma Mia' from the musical." They begin to sing. Santana watches and then begins to tune them out. The song is catchy, but it still doesn't mean anything to her, and she is tired of hearing Rachel's voice. The song ends.

"Rachel, sorry to burst your bubble, but that song's from the seventies, and it's more ancient than these pieces," Artie says smirking. Rachel gives him an indignant look.

"Whatever, Artie. This duet will win the competition for us, as long as I'm the one singing it, of course, while you guys sing back-up and sway in the background," she proclaims, returning to her seat with her nose in the air. Finn looks slightly embarrassed but follows her lead, sitting down beside her to wrap and arm around her shoulder.

Santana hears a whisper from a few chairs down in the back of the room, and she listens in.

"I swear, Berry needs to be knocked down a few pegs, and I might have to do it…and soon," Kurt hisses, barely audible, but just loud enough, meant only for the dark-haired boy sitting next to him to hear.

"We can work on something. Any solo you sing will be phenomenal, and I'm sure Mr. Schue will pick you over Rachel," Blaine whispers back.

"I wish that was the truth. Ugh, 'the squeaky wheel gets the grease' and we all know how obnoxious Rachel is…she's impossible to ignore," Kurt scoffs.

"That's it! _Grease_, Kurt," Blaine whispers excitedly, grinning.

"I see what you did there," Kurt says, giving Blaine a sly look. Blaine grabs Kurt's hand, sliding their fingers together, and leans his head to the side to look lovingly into Kurt's eyes. It's so sickeningly sweet it makes Santana's teeth hurt.

"Mr. Schue?" comes a quiet voice from the front of the room. "I –if it's okay…M-Mike and I h-h-have an idea for a song," she stutters. This little Asian girl looks absolutely terrified as she gets up in front of the class. Tina, she thinks her name is. Santana almost blushes from second-hand embarrassment. But she also feels sorry for her, another voice that gets lost among the others in the glee club.

"It's 'Tonight' from Bernstein and Sondheim's West Side Story," Mike explains. Tina and Mike begin singing. It's sort of nice, Santana thinks. If nothing else, it's a welcome break from having to listen to Rachel. But what was with this club's fixation on show tunes, she wonders. There are so many songs to choose from that are not eighties rock and regurgitated Broadway hits. But Santana doesn't have the guts to make a suggestion, instead, she sits quietly in the back in her usual spot and thinks about how she could be just as good at a solo or a duet or whatever. She just feels defeated.

-s-

5. Santana opens the door to her bedroom and heads directly to her bed, tossing aside her school bag and plopping herself down onto the mattress face-first. She rolls over on her back, hands crossed over her stomach, and stares blankly at the ceiling. Her eyelids become heavy.

The front door slams shut. Santana opens her eyes and sits up, disoriented, pulse quickening. She hears a few things being banged around downstairs. She's not sure if she should move or remain still.

"Santana?!" her mom yells. God, it sounds like she's been drinking. "Where the hell are you?" She stomps up the stairs and pauses outside of Santana's bedroom door before pushing her way in. "You left the goddamn trash cans in front of the house. How many times do I have to tell you to bring the fucking things around back when you come home from school?" she says angrily, her speech slightly slurring.

"I'm sorry," Santana cowers.

"You're always fucking sorry, sorry, sorry, lo siento. Está mierda," She spits out in a mocking tone. "Eres mierda, you're good for nothing," she yells, moving closer to Santana's bed. Santana's emotions are a jumble of anger, sadness, and fear as she musters all she can to hold her tears back and to keep from yelling back. It would only make the inevitable beating that much worse.

"I mean it, mom. I'm so, so sorry. I promise I won't forget again," she says, covering her face with her hands. "I just–"

"I don't wanna hear it, and I don't need your excuses!" And this time she's so close to Santana's face she can smell the booze on her breath. She grabs Santana's hands and yanks them away and slaps her hard across the face. Santana yelps from the pain that shoots through her head and lets out a choked sob. Then comes another blow, this time to the back of her head. She lay on her side crouched in fetal position, knocked over from the force, eyes squeezed tightly shut, shaking and trying not to move. If she plays dead, her predator will eventually leave. She's breathing heavily, keeping as silent as possible.

"You're lazy. I put a roof over your head, and this is how you show me your gratitude? Lazy."

Her mother slowly backs up and leaves the room.

Santana opens her eyes, and tears spill out, running their usual course down her cheeks. She wipes them away with the back of her hand, frowning. She furrows her brow as she thinks about how unfair this all is. But things have been like this for a long time, and Santana can barely remember a time before it, before her father walked out and never came back.

She gets up from the bed, and digs her iPod out of her bag, pops the ear buds in, turns it on, and drowns out all the noise from the outside world. Leave me here to die, she thinks. She grins sardonically to herself, throwing herself back onto her bed. She pulls the pillow over her face and covers herself completely with the blanket. She is a cocoon of Florence, Nicks, and Winehouse. In her head, she flutters her fragile wings, light as air, glides across a stage, the smiling faces look up at her. She smiles back.


	2. Part Two

6. The bell rings, signaling the end of fifth period chemistry, and Santana has to make up her mind about how she'll spend lunch this time. Probably, not eating, like usual. Brittany spots her in the hallway as she emerges from a nearby classroom and hurries to catch up with her.

"Isn't it lunch time now?" she asks, grinning.

"Yeah, why?"

"Then why are you heading in the opposite direction of the cafeteria?"

"Brit. I don't eat in the cafeteria. I'd be sitting alone, and, besides, I don't have anything to eat," she mumbles.

"You're coming with me, Santana. You're eating in the caf today," she says, grabbing Santana's hand and tugging slightly in the direction of the cafeteria.

"But – but, Brit, what don't you understand about 'I don't have food'?" She says, getting angry now, and a bit distressed.

"You don't. But I do. C'mon, I don't mind sharing."

Santana looks at her and then down at their hands which are still entwined. Her hand is warm and soft, fits so perfectly in Santana's. She looks back up, sadness in her eyes, but then manages a small smile. This girl is doing something to her, and she's not sure exactly what it is, but she likes it. Brittany's concern for her was endearing and completely confusing. Did kind people like Brittany actually exist? Alright. She would have to get used to this, but she feels guilty, like she doesn't deserve any of this. Since when were people nice to her without expecting anything in return?

They enter the cafeteria, and Brittany is already heading directly to a table next to one filled with people. Oh. Those were some of the people Santana had glee club with but never actually talked to. They sit down across from each other, and Brittany pulls out a Hello Kitty lunch bag. Of course, Santana thinks, rolling her eyes. She unzips it, pulling out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Oreos, and a juice box. Brittany hands Santana half of her sandwich, and they sit there, awkwardly at first, nibbling on the food.

"I found this table yesterday. It was sitting here all empty and lonely, so I sat down and gave it some company. I think people ignored it because the one leg is a little crooked, but I don't think that makes it any less of a table. I like to believe that it feels useful now," she says, beaming. Santana just stares at her for a moment, dumbfounded, as she chews the food in her mouth. She swallows.

"Where are you from anyway? You never told me anything about yourself," Santana says, because at this point she's just really, really interested. This girl's an enigma, a creature unlike Santana has ever seen before.

"I'm from Pennsylvania, but my dad got another job in Ohio, so we moved. I'm still not really sure what he does, but I like to believe he tames dragons." Her eyes are brighter than ever.

"Dragons don't exist," Santana says, feeling slightly embarrassed for Brittany and guilty about saying anything at all.

"Yes they do, and there are still too many wild ones, especially in Canada, that need to be tamed so that we never run out of fire," she states, matter-of-factly. Aw man. This is sad, Santana thinks. Does she really believe what she's saying? Santana decides she'll let it go. Maybe it's better if Brittany remains in her oblivious, happy state. At least, Brittany did seem to always be cheerful, and it was beginning to rub off on Santana a little. She couldn't complain about that.

"How about you?" Brittany turns the question around on Santana.

"I'm from, well, here," she laughs. "I live with my mom. She's, uh, not really around much because she works full time as a nurse. My dad left a long time ago…when I was six." She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and grabs an Oreo from the bag.

"Sometimes people have to go away," Brittany says.

"I guess," Santana shrugs, popping the remainder of the cookie into her mouth. "It's alright though. It doesn't really bother me anymore. I barely knew him, so I'm not really missing anything."

"But you have your mom," Brittany says, smiling.

"Yeah…" Santana winces.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. It's just a chill. Listen. Do you wanna, maybe, hang out at my house after school?" Santana asks, suddenly feeling unusually shy.

"I'd love to," Brittany says. Bright blue. They are so bright blue, Santana thinks, as she gets lost in Brittany's eyes for a moment. They split the rest of the lunch and toss the trash in the can.

The bell rings.

-s-

7. "My room is over here," she says, pushing the door open. Brittany files in behind her. They toss their bags down and take a seat on the bed. Santana turns on the small television set on top of her dresser, and lowers the volume, leaving it just loud enough to make out the dialogue. Santana lies back on her pillow and Brittany just sits there, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, staring at the television.

"We don't have to watch this," Santana says. "I'm sorry my house is boring."

"Do you want to do homework?" Brittany asks.

"Really? No. Just no. I don't even see the point of getting it done. I'm just going to fail anyway, or the teachers are going to feel so bad for me that they push me on ahead."

"Are your grades really that bad?"

"No, not really. I at least show up for the important classes and try to pay attention. I guess that counts for something," Santana admits.

"Definitely. I do my homework every night, but sometimes I get so confused. I mean, I thought Hamlet was a baby pig, but then the teacher said he kills his stepfather. I mean, it's just a baby. Babies don't kill people," Brittany says, looking and sounding utterly distraught. Santana tries so hard not to laugh for fear that she'll offend Brittany. But it is fucking hilarious.

"Well Shakespeare sucks anyway. I don't know why they even make us read that stupid, prehistoric shit anyway. Don't worry, I don't think anyone understands it," she says, trying to make Brittany feel better.

"What's a 'Shakespeare'? It sounds dangerous."

"Never mind."

They watch television for a little while, every now and then adding their own commentary and joking about the bad acting or the lack of plot. Brittany's comments are particularly unusual and have Santana laughing for extended periods of time until tears form in her eyes and her stomach hurts. Santana notices the sun is going down and suddenly feels panicked. She glances quickly at the clock.

"Brittany…I don't want to kick you out, but my mom is going to be home soon."

"It's alright. I understand." And Santana is convinced that she truly understands.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow, right?"

"Of course."

Santana walks Brittany to the door, they say their goodbyes, and she watches Brittany walk away down the sidewalk, the last of the remaining sunlight reflecting off her golden hair as her pony swings to and fro behind her with each bouncy step she takes.

-s-

8. Brittany comes over a lot now after school, and she and Santana sometimes watch television, sometimes do their homework, often with humorous results, and other times Brittany comes up with silly games or topics about which they get into lengthy discussions. Santana almost can't remember a time when Brittany wasn't at her house. She practically lives there now.

But today is different. Brittany doesn't walk home with Santana after school. She says she has a dentist appointment with Mr. Jones, and she hopes that he tells her fairytales about crows. Santana is used to Brittany's nonsensical comments and the way her brain works, so she doesn't even react anymore. She just smiles and accepts it. In fact, she loves the way Brittany is. It's always something new.

So Santana ambles mindlessly home, feeling empty and disconsolate. It's quiet without Brittany by her side. She is beginning to feel like only half a person without her, and sometimes they even hold hands on the way to Santana's. Santana likes this a lot.

She opens the front door and habitually heads up to her bedroom. Just as she's about to enter the room, she notices that her mom's bedroom door is ajar, which is strange. Santana usually has to pick the lock to break in and then make sure she remembers to lock it afterwards. She turns around and enters her mom's room instead. She figures this is a good opportunity to find some spare change or cash or anything worth pilfering that her mom won't notice is missing.

She pulls open the top drawer of her mother's dresser and begins rummaging through its contents. Socks, underwear, condoms. Gross. Gum? Just a few pieces. She won't notice. Some change and…what is this? Santana pushes a pair of slipper socks to the side to reveal a sandwich bag filled with weed. Holy shit. Next to it is a device that resembles a pipe, but it's glass. Her search over, she grabs the bag, her other spoils already stuffed in her pocket, and rearranges the contents in the drawer back to where they originally were and closes it.

Realizing that it isn't wise take the whole thing, she grabs a paper towel from the kitchen, dumps a little bit out, and returns the bag to the drawer. She would put the pipe back later.

Now what? she thinks. She could smoke it. She wanted to smoke it. But she didn't want to do it alone. It wouldn't be as fun. And she was kind of scared. Brittany. She will be home from her appointment by now, she hopes. So she pulls out her phone, opens her contacts, and presses send.

"Hey."

"Hey, Santana. I'm on my way home now. I didn't realize Mr. Jones was black, and he had no idea what I was talking about when I asked him about his friend Bob Dylan…" she rambles on.

"Oh, good. Can you come over?"

"Yeah. I'll have my dad drop me off. See you, Santana."

"See you soon!" Santana says before ending the call, an enormous grin stretches across her face in her excitement.

But then she remembers Brittany's aversion to smoking, at least, she lets Santana do it, but she won't smoke. If she can't convince her to smoke with her, she'll just feel like a loser. Her mood shifts suddenly to disappointment. But there's still hope, right? She thinks.

A car pulls up in front of the house, and Brittany gets out and rushes towards the front door where Santana is already awaiting her arrival and opens the door to let her in before she can even knock. Brittany sees that Santana is obviously excited about something, the way her eyes are shining. Santana doesn't know how to begin, so she brings Brittany up to her room, they sit down, and she speaks hesitantly, slowly, afraid of rejection and terrified that this is probably an awful idea.

"Hey Brit...I found something in my mom's room, and I was wondering if you'd do something with me...?"

"What is it...?"

"Well, it's, uh, pot. I was digging through her room for some spare change, and she had a big bag of the stuff...I only took a little bit."

She is terrified Brittany will turn away, loathe her for even asking, for thinking that she'd ever consider such a thing.  
Brittany is silent at first. The wheels are turning in her head. First she appears uncomfortable but then her expression relaxes.

"Okay, Santana."

"R-really? You will?"

"Yeah...I'm kind of curious too."

Santana is so happy that she grabs Brit and hugs her for a brief moment. The scent of coconut permeates her senses. This is nice, Santana thinks before letting go. Coconut is her new favorite scent.

She takes out a lighter and the pipe-looking object and makes a mental note to remember to put it back exactly where she had found it.

"I think this is how you do it..." she says, packing the bowl and lighting it. She has only smoked cigarettes before but she thinks this couldn't be much different.

Inhale, exhale.

Brit and Santana take turns taking hits until the plant is completely burned and reduced to a dark ash.

The world is fuzzy, and Santana sits, arms limp at her side. Her whole body is heavy, but her head is light, and the air is swirling about around her. How odd. Laughter from Brittany. Santana joins in. A chorus of laughter. Santana clumsily leans her head onto Brittany's shoulder.

"Hi," she says, and they laugh again.

"This feels so weird," Brittany says. "And I'm so hungry."

"Let's go to the kitchen. I'm sure we'll find something."

They practically bounce down the stairs and race for the kitchen, but it feels like they are swimming. They swim to the kitchen. Santana takes in air through her gills. She feels her neck with her hands and laughs again. They reach the fridge and begin searching for something to eat. Anything. There's a package of cheese and some leftover Chinese that her mother must have brought home with her. Brittany opens the cabinet and finds a few packages of Ramen and some crackers.

They begin boiling water for the Ramen, they reheat the Chinese, and they go to town on the crackers and the cheese. As soon as the Chinese and Ramen are finished, they devour that too.

They are back in Santana's room, sitting on the bed. Santana collapses onto the bed, giggling, as Brittany lays her head down on her chest. Her heart begins beating rapidly. Brittany looks up at her and smiles. Santana looks at Brittany's lips. They look even softer, even plumper than before. Oh…Santana feels warmth spreading through her body, a heat blossoms down near her hips, between her thighs. Oh my god. She's terrified. This is wrong, this is all wrong. Girls aren't supposed to make her feel like this, right? And, yet, as Brittany presses her body up against Santana on the bed, it just feels so natural, so right.

She has to snap out of it before she does something stupid, something she'll regret. She doesn't want to lose Brittany as a friend, and acting on her impulses could be disastrous.

"Brittany?"

"Yes?"

"I think you should leave," Santana says, trying not to let Brittany hear the pain in her voice. Brittany looks absolutely dejected, and she begins to pout, which kills Santana.

"Okay. I guess it is getting late anyway," she says, quietly.

"I'm sorry, Brit. I don't mean it like that. It's just, I need to clean up and make sure I don't get caught."

"I understand."

"Good. And, Brit?"

"Yeah…?"

"Thank you."

"It was fun, especially doing it with you. I'll see you at school tomorrow, Santana," Brittany says before heading out the door.

Santana is angry with herself. She doesn't want Brittany to go. They still have at least two hours before she has to worry about her mom returning, but she's having strange feelings that she doesn't want Brittany to find out about, feelings that she doesn't really understand. She's disgusted with herself as she stands there. She's confused. Brittany is her friend. She's just her friend. But maybe Santana wants to be more than friends.

-s-

9. The year is flying by swiftly, and Santana is scraping by as usual. She's at least passing all of her classes. The third marking period begins, and students are switching electives. Santana chooses to remain in glee club. It's easier this way, and, after winning at Sectionals, they are beginning preparation for Regionals. Now she and Brittany are inseparable. She asks Brittany to join the glee club. It doesn't take much for her to say yes.

They're sitting there in the back of the choir room at the end of the period when Brittany turns to Santana.

"I noticed that you slept through English again," Brittany says.

"Yeah? So what? Why does it matter? Mrs. H. doesn't care squat. I bet she's happy that there's one less student giving her a hard time. Besides, I was tired," she says.

"Santana," Brittany says, pausing momentarily, "we got paired up for a project on the book we are reading, and, um, I don't really understand it. But Mrs. H. said she'll be in her classroom after school if we need help, and I think we should go ask for help,"

"Pfft, no way. Like I'm gonna waste my time after school when I could go home and forget about this place," she says, but deep down, she knows that she really should listen to Brittany. Despite how annoying school is, Santana really does want to do well. She looks at Brittany: she is a sad, lost puppy dog. Santana swallows her pride. If for no one else, she does it for Brittany.

"Alright, Brits. Let's get our shit from our lockers and head over to see her." Brittany smiles, and they make their way out of the choir room when the bell rings.

The hallways are emptying out as Santana and Brittany enter the classroom. Santana hesitates before making her way over to the teacher's desk where she sits grading papers.

"Hey, um, Mrs. H...I sorta need, um, help. With the assignment. I mean, I don't understand the point of this book," she says, flustered and embarrassed about actually admitting this to the teacher. Mrs. Holden eyes her thoughtfully, looks over to Brittany and then back to Santana.

"I'm glad you stopped by then, and, I want you to know that I am proud of you. I know how difficult it is to admit that you may need help, but never ever think that needing assistance or guidance is a bad thing or makes you any less of a person."

Santana studies Mrs. Holden's face. It seems, somehow, softer now. She is young, looks to be only about thirty, perhaps younger, and the premature stress lines that crease her forehead seem to vanish now. Santana smiles, and it is reciprocated. Then she lets out a quiet chuckle to herself as she thinks about how wise Brittany really is.

"Where would you like to begin?"

"The first chapter...if that's okay."

So they sit for a few moments, discussing the text. Santana feels so much better now, like things are a lot clearer. She may even enjoy reading, but she isn't going to go admitting that any time soon.

-s-

10. She begins to make a habit out of these visits to Mrs. Holden's room. While not every visit is work related, Santana finds that she is genuinely just enjoying the company of her English teacher which she would never in a thousand years dream of happening or even dream of having to admit it to herself or others.

During one of these visits, Mrs. Holden pulls out a book and places it in front of Santana on the desk.

"What is this?" she asks slowly, taking the book in her hand, turning it over, and then back to the front to read the title. "'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn'...?"

"Yep. I really think you should read it...it's really, uh, something that I believe you will enjoy."

Santana studies the book with skepticism. She already has so much to read for classes that she probably never will read in the first place. What makes Mrs. H. think she has any desire to read this one?

"Thank you," she says hesitantly, forcing a smile in attempt to appear grateful. Santana slides the book into her bag and glances over at the clock. "I should probably head home now."

"Alright, I will see you tomorrow in class," Mrs. Holden says as Santana shoulders her bag, half-rushes out of the room, and exits the school.

When she returns home, she throws her bag down on her bedroom floor and empties the contents onto the carpet. She shuffles through the papers and books, grabs the novel, and tosses it to the side of her room by her closet door where it remains untouched and unopened for weeks.

-s-

Santana slowly regains consciousness after drifting off for a few hours. She hears a shuffling noise as if someone is going through her stuff. Rolling over, she sees her mom digging through her drawers. She sits up, alarmed.

"What are you doing?" she asks, rising from the bed.

"Looking for something," her mom answers flatly. She swears under her breath, closes the drawer, and turns around to face Santana where she's standing by the bed. "Something of mine is missing, and I'm going to find it. And when I do find it, it won't be pretty," her mom finishes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Santana lies vehemently. Although, she's not really lying because she's not actually sure what it is that her mother is searching for.

"I'm sure you do. There's no one else in this house, unless it's that little blonde bitch you bring home all the time," her mother scoffs. "What? You really thought I didn't know? The neighborhood sees you, Santana."

"She is not a bitch!" Santana angrily retorts. "And she would never take anything from this house or anywhere," Santana yells, getting very worked up now. Her mother has no right. She doesn't know Brittany at all. How dare she say such horrible things. She is horrible. Santana begins to tear up.

"I'll stop her from coming over. You watch me."

Santana chokes on her own spit as she tries to hold in the tears and tries to muffle her sobs.

Her mother glares at her angrily, sniffs the air, and then turns on her heel and storms out of the room.

She throws herself down on the bed, still flustered from the confrontation with her mom. She just wants to disappear, to escape. She sits up and scans the objects in her room. Then it catches her eye. The book. She laughs. That stupid book. She slowly rolls herself off the bed and gently lifts the book up to examine it. She opens the cover and flips to the first chapter.

Santana is lost to the world for the remainder of the evening.

She repeats this: she comes home and runs immediately to her room to continue the story.

And, in a mere week, she is finished.

Then she processes. She thinks about her mother, she thinks about her life, and she feels her chest swell with warmth and emotions that she can't put words to.

-s-

11. She doesn't think she was really trying to kill herself. Not really. But if she had been dreaming before, that's all she wanted. She finally feels enough strength return to her body as she pulls herself up into a sitting position. That's when her stomach turns, and she ducks her head between her knees waiting for the nausea to pass.

It is sweltering in her bedroom. The sunlight streaming through the open window only intensifies her overheated, uncomfortable state. The sunlight. It suddenly catches on something in her room, and she snaps her head around. Her mirror. She looks on at her own reflection: her eyes look dull, her hair lackluster, and there are dark circles under her eyes that make it seem that she hasn't slept for days. Weeks even. Her face looks emaciated, matching the rest of her body. She doesn't like what she sees.

Santana hears a click, and the handle on her door turns. A tall, blonde figure enters, practically glides into the room, a look of concern and deep sorrow plastered across her face. Her eyes, they are so melancholy, not as bright as they used to be. More gray now, she thinks. She watches Brittany approach her through the reflection in the mirror. Santana hides her face in her hands, furrowing her brow, trying to concentrate on something, trying to remember.

Brittany sees Santana crouched on the floor, the empty pill bottle nearby, and she rushes toward Santana, drops to the floor, and scoops her up in her arms. It's okay now, she seems to whisper, yet no sound actually escapes past her lips.

"Brit – " Santana starts, brokenly.

"It's okay," she practically coos. "You're okay. I'm here now."

"I – I'm so sorry I did it. I really didn't – I didn't mean for it to go this far."

"Santana," she speaks softly, "where did you get these?" she asks holding up the empty container.

"I found them, well, I stole them…they – they were in the same place I found the weed." Brittany gazes sorrowfully into Santana's eyes, but it's a sorrow filled with understanding, with compassion. She drops the bottle and pulls Santana into a tighter embrace, laying her head on her shoulder. Santana digs her nose into Brittany's soft hair and inhales deeply, the scent of coconut. This is the place where Santana feels the most comfortable, the safest, and the most complete. Here in Brittany's warm embrace, breathing in the scent of her hair. She buries her face into Brittany's shoulder and weeps openly, soaking the sleeve of her shirt. But Brittany doesn't mind.

Brittany pulls away, unwraps her arms from around Santana, and Santana looks shocked, hurt even. Brittany's eyes are a little brighter now. More blue, maybe. She gently turns Santana's chin up, grins ever so slightly, coyly, and moves forward, pressing her lips against Santana's, slowly, softly, sliding their lips together in the way they had learned, the way that sends shivers up and down Santana's body, causes her to melt, to lose complete sense of anything else in the world. It is only Brittany. Nothing else matters.

Brittany pulls away.

"You'll always be beautiful to me," she whispers. "You're the singular most amazing girl I know. Don't ever forget that."

"I love you, Brit. You know that…right?"

"Of course I do. And I love you too…and that's why I want you to stop hurting yourself."

"I promise."

"I can't live without you," Brittany murmurs, her eyes becoming glossy from unshed tears.

"Please don't ever leave me…? Tell me you'll always be there…I need you," Santana sobs, her voice fractured, choking slightly on the saliva gathering in her throat.

Brittany looks meaningfully into her eyes, grabs her hands, and rests them on her own chest. Santana can feel the warmth emanating from her body and the dull thud of her heartbeat. She clings onto her.

"Always."

They kiss again.


	3. Part Three

**Author's Notes:** Just a heads up: I didn't realize that I might not have been clear about the time jumps. There are flashbacks and flashforwards (did I make up that word?) as the story progresses that can be pieced together until everything comes full circle. The story is meant to be thought-provoking and unusual and is open to interpretation (what's real and what's not?). Otherwise, this is the final section of the story, and a lot of things happen. Like, whoa! So, hopefully, if you have stuck around, you will enjoy the rest of the story. Reviews are lovely :)

* * *

12. _Clang. Thud. Clang_. She hops up and down the bleachers. The wind caresses her face and whips through her hair. She feels like a child. Quinn watches Santana from the top of the bleachers where she sits perched like a hawk. Her cigarette is burning down. Santana makes her way back up to the top and sits down next to Quinn.

"Where's Brittany?" Quinn asks. "You two are always joined at the hip."

"I think she's sick. She didn't come to school today," Santana answers. She's concerned, but she'll call her after school lets out. Quinn hands Santana a cigarette, and they cup their hands around the flame to shut out the wind while lighting it. She takes a drag and relaxes again.

"Have you ever heard of a book called 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn'…?" Santana asks.

"Do I look like I read?" Quinn responds. Santana knows that Quinn has a stash of Jodi Picoult books under her bed, but she doesn't bring it up.

"I was just wondering," she says, looking down at her feet. "It's just that Mrs. H. let me borrow it, and I thought it was pretty good," she says, shrugging.

"You're friends with teachers now? What a loser. Next you're gonna tell me that you actually like those geeks in that glee club you're in," she sneers.

Santana is hurt and offended by Quinn's remarks. Maybe Brittany is right about her. She's not very nice, and she has been rubbing her the wrong way lately. Maybe Santana doesn't want to waste her time with people who aren't nice, who are negative about everything. People like Quinn.

-s-

13. Brittany blows smoke out of her mouth, giggling endlessly. Santana takes another hit, the last before the plant has completely burned up again. She sets the bowl down and leans back against the side of her bed. Brittany scoots over next to Santana and leans her head on her shoulder, closing her eyes.

"It's always nice when we do this," Brittany says drowsily.

"I always get so tired after, though," Santana says through a yawn. She leans her head onto Brittany's. Her hair is incredibly soft on her cheek, and Santana just smiles.

"Brittany…?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" Santana asks.

"Like that Katy Perry song?"

Santana laughs.

"Sorta, I guess."

"No, but I was always curious," Brittany says slowly.

"Can I kiss you?" Santana asks nervously.

Brittany nods.

Santana lifts her head and shifts her body around to face Brittany. She looks into those eyes, a brilliant combination of gray and blue, and Brittany gazes back. Santana's heart beat begins to race. She grabs Brittany's hand. They hold hands all the time. But this time it's different. Santana slowly, with uncertainty, moves her face closer to Brittany's. Their lips meet. It is fireworks and butterflies as Santana's stomach does somersaults and her brain short-circuits. Brittany's lips are soft as they slide together, gentle at first. Santana feels that warmth blossoming down between her thighs again as she deepens the kiss, kisses Brittany harder and with more urgency.

She pulls away. They catch their breath as they stare wide-eyed at each other. Santana looks down at the floor. She's not sure what her body is doing. She wants to kiss Brittany again, but this is just an experiment, right? Brittany breaks the silence.

"I like lady kisses. They're nice."

Santana looks up again and smiles.

"Me too."

They are silent again for a moment. The sun beats in through the window. The days are becoming longer now as winter progresses into spring. The sound of insects chirping and buzzing rises up into the still air. Brittany wraps her arms around Santana and pulls her in against her body. Santana is surprised, but she relaxes and sinks into Brittany's warmth. She has never been happier. She could burst. With their bodies pressed up against each other, Santana feels needy. She wants this closeness, and she wants more, to be closer to Brittany. She wants to be with Brittany.

"Brittany, I -"

"What…?"

"Never mind. It's nothing."

Brittany lies back onto the floor and Santana's body falls with her, still in Brittany's embrace. She leans her head against Brittany's chest. Tears form in the corners of her eyes. One silent tear escapes and runs down the side of her cheek.

-s-

14. Ever since Quinn mocked Santana for talking to Mrs. Holden after school, there has been a rift between the two. Santana still meets her out by the bleachers for their daily smoke break during her study hall. But today is different. She doesn't feel like it. Their conversations keep getting duller and duller. Santana notices that just being with and talking to Brittany makes her feel much better than Quinn ever made her feel. Santana reevaluates what a true friend actually is.

When eighth period rolls around, Santana stays inside the school. She grabs her book for English class and heads over to study hall. When she steps into the classroom, everyone looks up and watches her as she takes a seat. She opens her book to read, but there are multiple conversations going on throughout the room, and it's difficult to concentrate. After a failed attempt at reading three pages, she closes the book and looks around. A few desks over she sees a group of people she knows from glee club, but she never really talks to anyone besides Brittany.

One of the boys notices her staring at them and nods his head at her and smiles. The one girl, Mercedes is her name, turns around and also smiles at Santana.

"I didn't know you were in this study hall. You should come sit with us. We were just talking about glee club," Mercedes says, waving Santana over towards the group.

Santana picks up her book and her bag and pulls a chair up next to Mercedes. She knows all of their names, but she's never made it obvious or made it seem like she even cares. And, to be honest, she never did care before. The boy who nodded at her is Blaine and sitting next to him is Kurt. Then there's Tina on Blaine's other side and, of course, Mercedes.

"So where was I?" Kurt says. "Oh yeah. Mr. Schue needs to give it up with the eighties songs. Why can't we sing more Gaga or just anything more current. It's like he doesn't care what any of us have to say."

"Miss Rachel Berry g-gets all the solos and we'll n-never get a chance to prove th-that we're any good. And, besides Blaine here, w-we're the original members," Tina says, stuttering every few words.

"I think that we should hold a meeting and confront Mr. Schuester with our concerns," Blaine says.

"Oh, Blaine. You're always so optimistic and diplomatic. This isn't your old school where you actually _had_ a voice," Mercedes says.

"I think that we just need to show Mr. Schue that we have talent and force him to listen to us," Santana finally speaks up.

"Girl has a point," Mercedes says. "Why don't you talk more often?"

"I don't know."

"If we're going to stage something, I think it should be loud," Kurt says. "Costumes and the whole show!"

"Kurt means Gaga, of course," Blaine says.

"Born This Way…?" Tina asks.

"Precisely! I can already picture the set-up of the stage, and there's an opportunity for everyone to get a solo," Kurt explains.

Santana thinks about this, and it really doesn't seem like a bad idea. She had never been involved in their decision making before and had simply sat in the back and kept to herself. She feels herself actually becoming excited. Maybe this is what they need, though, to come together as a team. They all have strengths, and in order to play to their individual strengths, they would need to learn more about each other and how to work well with each other. This was good start.

She sits there and listens to Kurt describe his grand vision while the others give their input, and she realizes that maybe she should have talked to these people earlier. She sees them every day, but she never bothered. She thought that they didn't want to talk to her. Maybe they thought she didn't want to talk to them.

Santana continues to attend study hall, and her friendship with Quinn gradually deteriorates until it's nothing at all. They wave to each other in the hall sometimes, make small talk by their lockers in the morning, but they aren't friends. But study hall means getting closer to Kurt, Blaine, Mercedes, and Tina, people who love music as much as she does, people who also understand the need to feel accepted, heard, to feel important. And they do accept her.

-s-

15. Weeks fly by, and spring arrives bringing with it warmer weather, the rain, the birds, and new life. Brittany says she wants to see something give birth. Santana laughs, but they walk down to the lake at the park and find a goose sitting on its nest. They check up on it every few days until, finally, one day there are four little down-covered goslings waddling around the mother. Brittany throws her arms around Santana and smiles and giggles as she watches them. Santana knows now that she loves Brittany.

The next day, the goose and her babies are gone, and the nest is left vacant. Brittany is sad, but she takes Santana's hand, and they walk back to Santana's house.

They lay on Santana's floor next to each other staring at the ceiling. The bowl and lighter sit on the floor nearby. Santana sits up with great difficulty. Her limbs are heavy. She turns towards Brittany.

"Brit?"

"Yeah?" Brittany answers. She sits up and faces Santana.

"You're my best friend, like, the best friend - ever."

"Aw, Santana. You're my best friend too."

"Can I tell you something," she pauses, "a super big secret?"

"Of course," she says, scooting closer to Santana on the floor.

"You have to promise never to tell."

"I promise."

"When I, um, when I met Quinn, I sorta had a crush on her," she says nervously. What would Brittany think of her?

"Quinn's pretty."

"But Brit, I don't like her anymore. She's not nice. But - I think you're really nice," she feels a blush creep into her cheeks. She's really happy, yet, she has the urge to cry.

Brittany looks at Santana thoughtfully, grinning.

"I always thought you were pretty, Santana."

"But - do you understand what I'm saying to you? I- I like girls, Brittany. And, I think I really like you," she blushes. "When we kiss, Brittany, I don't think it's just fun…I _feel_ something."

"Santana, I feel something too - and most of the time I want to touch your boobs."

Santana snorts and laughs as she tries not to cry. This is all too surreal. She becomes somber again.

"I think I'm _gay_, Brittany," she says, slowly, cautiously.

"Whatever you are, gay or Santana or even a unicorn, I will always love you," she says, wrapping an arm around Santana's shoulder.

"Oh my god, Brittany. I've never been so happy," Santana says as she tears up.

"Does this mean we can get our sweet lady kisses on more often now?" Brittany asks. "Because they are my favorite thing," she says, beaming.

Santana leans into Brittany, places her hand on her cheek, and brings their mouths together to meet in a gentle kiss. After a moment, Santana pulls away.

"I knew it was a good idea to tell you."

"Are we like, girlfriends now, Santana?"

"Sure," she says, beaming, her heart pounding in her chest, her body warm all over. "Girlfriends," she breathes.

-s-

16. Santana sits on the bench at the park shaking and sobbing and unable to calm herself. It's Wednesday, but she's not at school. She places her hand over her cheek where the flesh has been torn, and another wave of anger and helplessness surges through her body.

_"I know you've been going in my room, Santana!" Smack._

She winces at the memory. She brings her knees up against her chest and curls into herself. A small group of ducks swim across the surface of the water. A dragonfly lands on the bench beside her before zipping off again.

_"All you do is sleep all day and hang around with that idiot girl!"_

Santana squeezes her eyes shut as if this will shut out the memory and the world around her. A leaf drifts down from a nearby tree pulled off by the breeze and grazes past Santana's cheek. She opens her eyes again.

_She steps back, knocks into the coffee table, and falls backwards. Santana scrambles to get up, but her mother is bearing down on her. This is when Santana slaps her back. This is the worst decision she could make. She needs to get out, to get away from here as quickly as possible, but she's trapped, and she has just baited the lion._

_"How dare you," her mother says, malice in her eyes. This is when she grabs Santana's face and digs her nails into the soft flesh. Santana screams. She lets go. Santana lets out a whimper and holds her face. Blood. There's blood on her hand. A rush of adrenaline surges through her, and she rolls away, manages to grab her bag, and pushes her way out the front door. Running. She's running. She needs to get away to anywhere but here._

She hears a rustling behind her in the grass. It's a squirrel. She watches the small creature as it frantically digs into the soft earth in search of something. The animal perks up, sniffing the air, then takes off. Then Santana hears footsteps approaching.

"I got your text around third period. Sorry I couldn't come sooner," Brittany says, taking a seat beside Santana on the bench. Santana's face is hidden behind her hair, and, when she finally looks up at Brittany, she quickly covers her face again with her hands and cries even harder than before.

"Santana!" Brittany gasps, concern in her eyes. "What happened?"

"It's nothing, Brit," she sobs.

"It's clearly not nothing. Santana, you're hurt."

"It doesn't matter, Brittany. I deserved it."

Brittany watches Santana and it hurts her to see her like this. She moves in closer to Santana on the bench and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead. Santana lifts her head and looks Brittany in the eye. Brittany gently places her hand under Santana's chin and turns her face. She kisses her cheek around the cuts, being careful not to apply too much pressure. And even though Santana is hurting, she has never felt more loved than in this moment.

"You deserve to be loved, Santana," Brittany says softly. She wraps her arms around Santana, and Santana sinks into her embrace.

The clouds drift lazily against the azure sky. A frog jumps into the lake and sets off a sequence of ripples that span out a great distance before the water stills again. The breeze carries the scent of coconut to Santana's nose. It's her favorite scent.

17. She slams her locker shut and rushes to catch up with Brittany on their way to lunch. As she reaches Brittany's side, she realizes that people are looking at her funny. People never look at Santana, at least, not like this. She quickly looks down and around herself to see if there's something on her shirt or pants, but there's nothing. People continue to stare at her and Brittany. One upperclassman smirks and winks as they pass. Santana feels dirty.

Brittany tries to hold her hand, but Santana pulls away. She doesn't want to draw anymore attention to herself.

"What's wrong? You always hold my hand?" Brittany asks.

"Not in school. We can't hold hands in school," she responds.

"Why not?"

"I don't know, Brit. People are looking at me like there's something wrong with me. I don't like it," she says.

"It's alright, I understand," Brittany says frowning.

During lunch, the two are now sitting with the glee kids. One day in study hall, Blaine mentions how Santana always sits alone and that she and Brittany should join their table. So they do. This is how she gets to know Artie and Mike too. Kurt, Blaine, Mercedes, and Tina also happen to share the lunch period, and conversation becomes much easier with everyone in the group.

But the atmosphere isn't as cheery as it usually is. Over the weekend, they had lost at Regionals and are not moving on in the competition. Everyone is gloomy and disappointed.

"C'mon, guys. It's not the end. We're only sophomores. We have time to get better, and, eventually, we'll make it to Nationals," Blaine says, attempting to raise morale.

"It's just really lame how Vocal Adrenaline won _again_," Artie says.

"W-well they were really good," Tina says quietly. Everyone glares at her.

"It's okay, guys. we'll just start planning now for next year so that we're one step ahead of the game," Kurt says. "Brittany, you're a really good dancer, right?" he says.

"Yep! I'm the best dancer in glee club," she claims. Mike smiles at her.

"We obviously need a different approach, so I think that we should highlight our dancers and pick new soloists," Kurt explains.

"Brittany and I can choreograph something," Mike says.

"And I really think that Santana kicked ass during Born This Way," Blaine says, grinning at Santana. She blushes. Santana feels flattered. No one has ever told her that or believed in her before.

"Really? Thank you," Santana says quietly.

"Or, if we were to duet, I think Santana and I sound great together," Mercedes says, and everyone at the table nods in agreement.

The conversation continues on in a similar manner. The atmosphere at the table lightens and everyone's mood lifts as they shoot ideas at each other about next year. Next year - a future. This is only a beginning. These are her friends. They will still be friends, Santana thinks, a group that accepts her, a group to come back to after the summer. And they like her too. She smiles.

Brittany looks over at Santana and grabs her hand under the table. Santana looks around, but no one seems to notice, so she squeezes Brittany's hand and sets it on her knee. She looks over at Kurt and Blaine. The way they look at each other now makes Santana kind of sad. She knows that they can't openly show affection for fear of backlash from people who don't understand, who think it's unnatural, that what they have between them is wrong. And Santana never thought that she'd ever be in the same situation. She wishes it didn't have to be this way.

But she knows what those looks mean, the ones people shoot at her when she walks down the hallway with Brittany, and she is more scared than ever before.

The bell rings.

They head to their classes and finish out the remainder of the day. When ninth period rolls around, Santana is more eager than ever before to head to glee club. The excitement in the choir room is infectious, and Mr. Schuester and those members left out of the previous conversations, especially Rachel Berry, are confused. They don't understand how it's possible to recover so quickly from a loss, but the members involved explain their plans, and Mr. Schuester actually listens to them. Rachel crosses her arms, sinks down in her chair, and huffs. Finn grins stupidly around at everyone as he's swept up into the good energy circulating the room, although he's not quite sure of exactly what's even going on.

-s-

18. It's Friday, and Santana is standing at her locker after fourth period with Brittany when one of the football players approaches them. He leans against a locker smirking at them before he speaks.

"How would you two lovely ladies like to escort the Puckerman to a party tonight," Noah says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Santana feels uncomfortable, but she has never been invited to a party before, especially by a popular upperclassman.

"I'll keep you posted," she says with a bit of an attitude, disgust evident in her voice. She says it like this because she doesn't want to come off sounding desperate or all that interested. Well, she's definitely not interested in _the Puckerman_. As if. But Noah seems to like this.

"Alright," he says, grinning, before he turns to walk away down the hall. After he has walked a short distance, he turns back around. "See you at nine!" He yells down the hallway with his hands cupped around his mouth. Sure, whatever, Santana thinks. What an idiot.

She considers the offer throughout the remaining periods of the school day, and by ninth period, she has decided that she'll go. What could it hurt? She would bring Brittany along, and they might actually have fun.

Brittany tells her parents that she's sleeping over Santana's, she comes home with Santana after school, and they hang out up until it's time to get ready for the party. Santana realizes that she's kind of clueless about what people wear to these things or really what a high school party consists of. If she were to believe that any movie she has watched is accurate, then high school parties are probably pretty crazy. She's not sure how accurate they might be, so she doesn't know what to expect. Brittany is just as clueless, but when isn't she, Santana thinks.

They do each other's hair and makeup, and, after digging apart Santana's dresser and closet, they put together outfits that they think are suitable for the occasion.

Around nine o'clock, they are standing outside the house where the party is taking place. Santana takes a deep breath before entering. Inside the house, really bad music is blaring, and Santana scrunches up her face as she makes her way through the rooms over to where a game of beer pong is taking place. She notices that most of the attendees are just sitting around and not really interacting much. Then someone comes up behind her and taps her on the shoulder, and she turns around to see who it is.

"I knew you couldn't resist the Puckasaurus," Noah says. Gross. He's got _another_ douchey nickname for himself, Santana thinks.

"Not at all," she responds sarcastically.

"Let's get you two some drinks, shall we?" he says. Santana swallows nervously but then follows Noah into the kitchen where he mixes something in red cups and hands them to her and Brittany. Santana's drink smells like rubbing alcohol, but she doesn't want to look like a loser, so she holds her breath and downs it as quickly as possible.

Three drinks later - or, she thinks it's only three - and Santana is stumbling through the room, her vision blurred. Brittany tries to cling to her, but she clumsily shoves her away. Brittany feels hurt, but she drops down on the couch next to a couple of football players and frowns before she turns to talk to them.

Santana doesn't know why she does it, but the next thing she knows, she's climbing up onto a chair and speaking way louder than is necessary.

"I'm a singer. I'm a really good singer. Just ask Brittany over here," she says slowly, slurring and elongating her words, as she points the hand holding the red cup in Brittany's direction. "We are bad ass." Then she's toppling over as her vision begins to grow dark, and all she feels is the sensation of falling.

When she comes to, she's laying down in a bed and someone's mouth is on hers. It's sloppy and rough.

"Brittany?" she mumbles, still fairly disoriented. This doesn't feel like Brittany. She hears a deep chuckle. A wave of panic surges through Santana as she begins to scramble to sit up, but the heavy body on top of her is pinning her down. She gets a burst of adrenaline, and she pushes Noah off of her and quickly rolls off the bed and to the floor. Where's Brittany? Oh my god. Then she notices that her shirt is open, and she feels a prickling heat rise to her face as she covers herself up. She glares over at the boy on the bed.

"What, babe? Is this too much for you? You seemed to be enjoying it," he says with a cocky grin, as he lays back on the pillow with his arms folded behind his head.

Santana is going to puke. She runs and stumbles out of the room and down the stairs. She needs to get away, but she needs to find Brittany. She scans the room, her head is spinning, and she finally spots Brittany slumped over in a chair.

Lights begin flashing outside the windows. Oh _shit_. Santana grabs Brittany and pulls her up. She's nearly as limp as a rag doll, but she manages to move her out the back door and into the yard. The cool night air washes over Brittany and rouses her enough so that she and Santana are able to run as far away as they can get. They put a decent distance between themselves and the party when Santana stops abruptly, doubles over, and empties the contents of her stomach all down the front of her shirt and onto the grass in front of her. Brittany sways in place, her eyes glazed over, but then she reaches for Santana, pulling her hair back away from her face.

As Brittany rubs her back, Santana's body heaves again and again until nothing is coming out, and her eyes are moist, blurring her vision even more. But she still feels ill. She feels violated. The surrounding trees dance before her eyes, and she decides to sit down on the ground with her head between her knees. Her breathing is heavy. Then tears burst from her eyes and stream down her face. She sobs and chokes on her own spit. She wipes her mouth, but the taste won't go away. She wants to throw up again, but nothing will come out.

They sit there on the ground, holding each other, until Santana feels sober enough to stand up. The journey back to Santana's house feels like it takes forever, but they eventually arrive, and Santana leads Brittany around to the back of the house.

Santana slowly pushes the back door open, and it creaks slightly. She winces. She shuts it behind them, and they quietly make their way up the stairs and into Santana's room. As soon as the door is closed, she throws herself onto the bed, and Brittany sits down and slumps over next to her. They lay there not saying anything to each other, but Santana is thinking. She's thinking that she hates parties, and that she's stupid and horrible for dragging Brittany along, and she feels used and lower than dirt. She thought parties were supposed to be fun. She wraps her arms around herself and rolls over on her side. Her eyes are closed for only a moment before she drifts off to sleep.

Months pass, and she never tells anyone about what happened that night. Not even Brittany.

-s-

19. She stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she brushes her hair. Brittany walks out of the stall behind her and joins her at the adjacent sink. Santana smiles at Brittany's reflection in the glass. Then she notices Brittany is fumbling with her phone and looking distressed.

"What happened, Brit?"

"The poop-stealing water chair tried to steal my phone, but I ripped it out of its hungry jaws just in time before it took it away to the Bermuda triangle where everything gets lost," she explains, turning the phone over in her hands as she punches the screen and all the buttons on it hard with her finger, her forehead scrunches up in confusion.

Santana rotates her body around and grimaces at Brittany.

"It's no use, it needs CPR, but I don't know how to do it," she whines. "It's dead, Santana." She looks defeated.

"You can't give a phone CPR. And _please_ don't put that anywhere near your mouth."

"Why would I put it near my mouth? Isn't it 'cell phone reeducation'? Because I need to teach it that jumping into shallow water is not smart, or, at least, how to swim."

Santana bursts into laughter that resonates loudly off the walls of the bathroom until she's doubling over gripping a stitch in her side.

Brittany just stares at her blankly.

"I'm sorry. I'm done - I promise," she says, as she lets out one last round and holds onto the edge of the sink for support. "J - just put the phone down and wash your hands," she says, her face twisting in disgust, as she finally catches her breath and stands back up. Brittany places the phone in her bag and mouths "I'm sorry" to it before snapping the bag shut.

"C'mon, it'll be okay," Santana says, placing an arm around Brittany's waist and leading her out of the bathroom. Brittany looks over at Santana and smiles again even though she doesn't know how she'll explain the death to the phone's family. Who would have thought that a klepto would turn homicidal.

It's the final day of the school year, and everyone is rushing around with yearbooks and cleaning out their lockers. Santana doesn't bother buying a yearbook because they're expensive and she doesn't see the point. She still has to come back to these people for two more years. And, yet, this knowledge isn't the worst thing in the world. She has Brittany now and her friends in the glee club. Summer vacation was all too inviting as she imagined all the time she would now have to spend with Brittany alone. The best things happen when they're alone, and Santana's mind begins to wander toward thoughts that she probably shouldn't entertain in school.

The end of the day is nearing, and Brittany gets called to the office and tells Santana to go on without her. Santana peeks her head into Mrs. Holden's classroom before entering with a book in her hand.

"I figured you'd want this back," she says, handing over the novel she had borrowed months ago. "I really enjoyed it," she says, and her English teacher looks up at her and grins.

"I'm really glad to hear that." And she is. Santana pulls a chair up to the teacher's desk and sits.

"You know, I really hated this class. In fact, I hated reading anything, and, let's be honest here, I hated school and everyone in it," Santana says, smirking. "But I found out that it's really not that bad, and the teachers can actually be kinda cool," she finishes, quietly. She's a bit embarrassed to admit it, but it's actually the least she can say to express how she's feeling.

Mrs. Holden laughs and gives Santana a genial smile. "Thank you for returning my book. I definitely saw a change in your attitude this year, Santana, and I enjoyed having you in class and getting to know you. I know - you probably hear a lot of teachers say things like that, but I truly mean it."

Santana smiles and eyes her now ex-English teacher thoughtfully. "Well, I'm gonna head out of here. There's only so much I can take of these hideously painted walls and floors, and I swear I've acquired a condition from all of the chalk dust," she says.

Mrs. Holden rolls her eyes and laughs. "Some things never change. Have a great day, Santana. Enjoy your summer, but don't get into too much trouble. I'll see you next year," she says as she waves to Santana on her way out.

The bell rings, signalling the end of the day and the end of the school year, and Santana finds Brittany standing next to her locker looking lost and incredibly put out. Her good mood melts away as she approaches and Brittany looks up at her before tears begin streaming down her face. She pulls Brittany to her body.

"Shh, sh. What's wrong," she coos, trying not to cry herself. Because she hates when Brittany is sad, and she physically can't stand it, so much so, that her body reacts on reflex. She runs her hand through Brittany's hair over and over until she's finally calm. Brittany looks up at Santana.

"It turns out that my dad isn't a dragon tamer after all," Brittany says through the tears, and she wipes her nose with the back of her hand.

Santana is relieved. "Is that what this is? I mean. I thought I was going to have to beat someone up," she says, finding it possible to smile again.

"He's in the military."

Oh, Santana thinks. Then all of the possibilities, from the most innocent to the most gruesome, pop into her head, and she doesn't know what to say or where this is going.

"We're moving again." A fresh wave of tears rolls down Brittany's face. Santana's stomach turns, and she wants to pretend that none of this is happening. They stand there in the hallway holding each other and crying into each other's shoulders. Santana finally catches her breath, and gathers the courage to ask...

"When?"

"In a month."

And, suddenly, her whole world comes crashing down on her, and she's not sure she has the strength enough to dig herself out of the rubble.

-s-

20. Santana's air passages seem to open up all at once as her body vacuums in the oxygen around her, her chest expanding with life, her heart no longer deprived. She gasps loudly.

It is like coming back from the dead. Or being born, taking her first breath, screaming and crying as she is being ripped from her mother's infernal womb. But there is no audience this time. There's silence. Then, the sound of her breathing as it regulates itself. Her body is holding on with everything it can. Silent tears stream down from the corners of her eyes, wetting her hair.

Santana lays there, heavy limbs, head-spinning, head pounding unable to make sense of what is up and what is down. She can feel herself breathing again. Slowly in, slowly out. Why does her chest hurt so much?

The empty pharmacy bottle lays a few inches away from where her arm is splayed out across the floor. She wearily turns her head to the side. Slowly in, slowly out. The pounding begins to turn into a dull throbbing.

Everything floods back into her skull, what she's doing here on the floor, why she has found herself in this predicament.

What the fuck was she even thinking? Obviously, she wasn't.

Brilliant. The light in her eyes, the sudden buzzing of insects outside the window, the sweet taste of the air as it enters and exits her lungs.

A ghost of a warm touch lingers on her skin, like the aftermath of a very comfortable dream that's details are soon forgotten.

This is life. This is breathing. Her brain is telling her to get up, rise. Rise now.  
So she does. Santana slowly rises up from the floor, brushing away the dirt and dust that had collected on her body. Her eyes adjust, as she turns her head to gaze out the window.

And there it is. A whistle. Or is it a tune, a soulful, mellow tune of love, loss, and perseverance of life. How odd it is to exist, here. And to think she almost took this away from herself.

The songbird sends its whimsical lilt up over the trees, adrift upon the warm, still summer air, a gift to those willing to listen, to heed its call. And Santana receives it. The melody that would forever course through her body, that her heart pumps through her veins to her extremities. It is a song that cannot be killed, that cannot be destroyed.

Dear, god. She is alive. Every molecule in her body vibrating with energy, pushing her perpetually forward into the future. She has a future, now. She's hopeful. She has friends now, and she has dreams and ambitions.

And none of this is meant to cease so prematurely.

This is not the end, she tells herself. This is merely the starting line, the gunshot fired, and now it's time to take off. Take flight. Fly.

Her phone goes off on top of a pile of dirty laundry in the corner of her room. Pink's voice fills the room until she finally reaches over to answer the call.

"Santana -" The voice is breathless. "We're not moving!"

And Santana believes in love, and she might even believe in fate.


End file.
